


and then you can begin again

by ohcosima



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Fear of Flying, French Characters, French Kiss AU, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Swearing, as to mean that i slipped some french into some characters talk, but also bellamy is, but we love them all the same, i just realized everybody is an asshole, i think that there's some smoking and drinking but it's nothing major at all, octavia is the usual asshole, so obviously there's french kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcosima/pseuds/ohcosima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that he couldn’t accept she’d left him, he just knew he could show her what they were, what they <i>are</i>. And then, only one question would be needed: <i>Can she give you all of that?</i></p><p>And if the answer was to be yes, he would go. Nothing would keep him there anymore. So <i>maybe</i> he was hoping she had a sudden realization and that <i>maybe</i> she launched herself back into his arms, but if it didn’t happen… well. He could cry, but he’s not saying he’s going to.</p><p>Alternatively, the French Kiss AU nobody asked for, where Murphy is Kate, Bellamy is Luc and Emori is Charlie. Featuring a bunch of our favorite delinquents and pretty French places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have two fics pending and I still post new ones. Why, you ask? Well, let me explain.
> 
> 1\. I just have too much unfinished stuff on my pc, I need to get rid of something.  
> 2\. I am a procrastinator.  
> 3\. But I'm also an artist, I need the divine illumination! Don't rush my creativity!  
> 4\. I'm sorry,you can hit me in the face through a comment.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this thing that pestered me for months. Kudos, comments, bookmarks and whatnot are all appreciated!

“How is it going?”

“Oh, you know, a lot of medical talk, you don’t want to know,” she chuckled.

“I really don’t, I just ate.”

“Oh my _god_ , the food here is really something. You should have come, if only you hadn’t been such a biased moron towards French people,”

“They are the ones hating on us!”

“They used this special sauce, it was the tastiest thing! I signed down the recipe, we must use it on _everything_ ,” Emori squealed, making Murphy shake his head in amusement.

“They use it to mask the stink of cheese,”

“Stop it or I’m coming back just to hit you in the face.”

Murphy laughed, ready to start a mock fight and relax a bit after his stressful week. But as soon as he opened his mouth to reply, the line, which was very feeble from the start, grew even more intermittent until it was almost impossible to distinguish any sound.

“Emori? Emori, I can’t hear you?” Murphy tried to bring the receiver even closer to his face than it already was, but the line had clearly fallen, so he put it down with a sigh, going back to putting Emori’s mess back in order. She was a nightmare when it came to packing up; she would try to bring useless things, and he always had to keep an eye on her. Too bad it always ended up with him either laying down on the floor, breathless after a pillow fight which threw out of the window any attempt at tidiness, or with him trying to find a spot to lay on which wasn’t occupied by whatever Emori had scattered around.

While he folded her socks, he shook his head, not for the first time worried about her well-being. Murphy didn’t understand why Emori wasn’t picking up her phone lately; admittedly he hadn’t been calling her that much, but she never seemed to do much effort to reach out. He had chastised himself multiple times, she was on a work trip, after all, not on vacation.

But she had finally picked up, even if the conversation only lasted two or three minutes. The line was disturbed and he could hear voices buzzing in the background, so it was really just to check up on her and know that she wasn’t in distress. Even though at the moment, it was actually _him_ the one in distress, but he’d rather not dwell on it.

She _had_ asked him to come with her, but he couldn’t do it. He had been scared of planes since he was a little boy, impatiently jumping up and down during the check-in, hand in hand with his father. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he just had flashes of crappy disaster movies where the airplane crashed on a highway and exploded, taking its passenger’s lives in the process. Too much television ruins you.

And also, France? Not his thing, really. Paris didn’t make Murphy sigh or dream of romantic elopements as it apparently did for all of his friends. He may have been prejudiced, and he knew he was, but he just didn’t see what was the thrill of it. So, no, Paris wasn’t in his _Places to Visit before You Die_ list; not that he had one, of course.

It just made him think about snobby French people with ugly hats and weird moustaches. Plus, who eat so much _fromage_ they had to invent that many types?!

He still had to do his immigration interview, and leaving just now wouldn’t have been the wisest choice. But most importantly, he would have probably ended up wandering in Paris all by himself while Emori went out with her group of doctor friends and he sincerely couldn’t stand most of them, so what was the point? He wasn’t going to enjoy it and Emori would’ve been too busy to spend time with him, he wouldn’t have asked her to pay attention to him and put aside her job. So he declined, promising her frequent phone calls and updates on the whole situation here at home.

So here he was, sipping tea in his girlfriend’s apartment, _their_ apartment, by now. He felt excitement bubbling in his chest while he stared at all the papers scattered around him, on the coffee table, on the floor, on the sofa.

Photos of possible houses, cut-out pieces of magazines and newspapers, a photocopy of his ID. Truth be told, there wasn’t many things he had needed to update her about, it was all settled now. His Canadian citizenship was on its way, they were already choosing the house of their dreams, her parents knew how it all was going to go, and Emori’s sister was already tormenting him with questions about how and when he was going to propose officially.

He felt accomplished at the thought, a sensation he had quite rarely experienced. His life had been a bore until it hadn’t. He thought he had felt love before, but now he knew he had been wrong all the way until her. The world of John Murphy, apparently sleep-inducing literature teacher, was about to be rocked.

~

And it really was. Three days later, early in the morning while he was still lying in his bed completely asleep. The phone rang once, twice, and Murphy had to force himself to answer it.

He was still coming to his senses when he saw Emori’s name bright on his phone screen, and unlocked it immediately. “Hey, babe,”

“John.” Her tone was slightly off-putting, which made Murphy frown. He yawned, rising to sit and staring into the dark of their room at 2 and a half in the morning.

“Emori. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, it is.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” he tried not to sound scolding or overly preoccupied, but the fact that she had called at such a hour made him quite wary.

A couple of seconds of grave silence fell, until Emori spoke. “Actually, something happened.”

“Do tell,” Murphy prompted, a little annoyed. He’s as gentle as he could, given that he’s not the exact definition of gentle on most days, let alone when he’s just woken up.

“I… I called to tell you I’m in love.”

Murphy blinked, utterly at a loss of what to make of her words. “Are you drunk right now?”

Emori sighed, frustration evident even though he couldn’t see her face. “Crap. This is so hard,” She almost whispered, “John, I met this woman. This is completely fucked up, but I know it’s… it is destiny.”

“Emori, what the fuck are you talking about.”

“She’s French. You should see her, she’s just the most perfect being on the planet,” Murphy fell silent, now gripped by a strange kind of anticipation. “I don’t know what hit me, John. I just. I know it’s her. I love her, and she loves me. We’re made for each other.”

Murphy felt the air being sucked out of his lungs. All he could manage was a faint, “What?”

“I can’t describe it. With her, I feel like I can do anything, John. Anything. I don’t know, I feel like I could face the clowns of last September carnival.”

“You were scared of those,” he stated dumbly. She had always been.

“ _Exactly_!” Emori exclaimed, “I must go, John. I’m not coming back. I wish you a happy life.”

Murphy’s life did a back flip and threw itself down the toilet alongside the content of his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating may change in the future!

  _Breathe in_. _Breathe out_. That’d been his mantra for the last six hours, from when he woke up to when he entered the taxi to the airport.

He was about to put himself in the worst case scenario he could think of when asked to name his visceral fears, and he was doing it without any regard both for self-respect and law. Until he found his seat in the airplane ― also known as metallic bird monster, an affectionate epitome he had personally chosen ―, his head only produced the same face, the same name, over and over again. Emori. He must bring her back.

It’s not that he couldn’t accept she’d left him, he just knew he could show her what they were, what they _are_. And then, only one question would be needed: _Can she give you all of that?_

And if the answer was to be yes, he would go. Nothing would keep him there anymore. So _maybe_ he was hoping she had a sudden realization and that _maybe_ she launched herself back into his arms, but if it didn’t happen… well. He could cry, but he’s not saying he’s going to.

In that moment, anyway, he just hoped to survive that hazard he decided to make by getting on a potentially killing scrap heap, and to keep in mind what he had learned from that audio-book he bought when he and Emori had programmed their holiday in Australia (which promptly failed because of reasons and changed into a safer trip to Mt. Rushmore).

 _Just breathe_. _Nothing is going to crash against the airplane_. _The airplane, in fact, is not crashing at all_. _Against anything_. _Your head isn’t going to be cut off into_ ―

A sudden movement near him interrupted his stream of thought.

He jerked suddenly, his sunglasses-covered eyes landing on the man who was currently wriggling his way to the empty seat near his. Taking advantage of the fact that he couldn’t see him behind his dark lenses, Murphy rolled his eyes, because he could already imagine the useless chit-chat that was going to be taking place. He braced himself for a lot of weather talk. And it was going to be _a lot_ , seeing as the man only wore what seemed to be a thin-fabric shirt and a leather jacket. If he rolled with that.

But he couldn’t linger on it too much as the airplane engine started to roar loudly. Tension gripped his shoulders immediately, making him search desperately for any distraction. So he found himself singing. “I hate Paris in the springtime, I hate Paris in the fall. I hate Paris in the summer when it sizzles, I hate Paris in the winter when it drizzles,” and he was getting to the best part, if the stranger hadn’t interrupted him.

“First time flyer, huh?”

Murphy barely turned to look at him. He wore a fastidious smirk, and his accent just screamed he was one of the Frogs. “You’re French.”

“Bellamy Blake.” He ignored his statement, in favor of mocking his latent fear of planes. “Have you been living barricaded inside your house for the last decade?”

Murphy pursed his lips. “I’ve been moving as other normal people do. Cars. Feet. Bikes. Those magic things called trains too.”

Bellamy ― such a fucking French name ― snorted, but his laughter was interrupted by the hostess announcing the plane takeoff. He smirked at him, “Mmh, almost there.”

Murphy gripped his thigh like his life depended on it, pressing his back to his seat. The hostess kindly asked the passengers to turn off their phones, and whished them an enjoyable flight. Murphy promptly took a deep breath, distracting himself by singing silly songs in his head. And he wouldn’t be as on edge as he was in that moment if he couldn’t feel a pair of eyes burning the left side of his face.

“Would you _please_ stop staring at me?” he all but gritted through his teeth.

He expected a rude retort, but his neighbor spoke with what seemed sheer amazement. “It is incredible.”

Murphy turned to him, casting him a deadpan look. “What?”

“I can sense the tension rolling off of you. Every muscle of your body is tense. I think your fingernails are tense too.”

Murphy stared ahead of himself once again, choosing to ignore the urge to throw a few punches, but Bellamy didn’t seem to get the hint.

“Me, I love flying. Especially this moment. The anticipation, the engines roaring. The pressure building. It slams you against your seat, and then you are in the air and everything is behind you. You’re above it all for a while and you can feel light.”

“How poetic.”

“There’s only one other place in life where I feel this kind of exhilaration.”

“Where?” Murphy frowned, genuinely curious for a moment.

Bellamy smirked, ready to throw some inappropriate answer, “Well, it is―”

“No, wait. Don’t tell me. I can guess for myself.” Murphy timely stopped him.

The hostess finally announced their imminent takeoff, momentarily making Murphy hold his breath.

“Fuck, here we go.” He muttered, swallowing audibly. He had lost all of his pride and decency, he didn’t care if he started crying, this was honestly the most awful situation in which he had been in years.

“Maybe,” Bellamy must obviously have thought that Murphy interrupting every single one of his sentences meant he liked him, so he kept talking, “maybe it’s not the airplane. Maybe it’s not that you are scared of. Ever thought about it?”

“What do you mean?” he had nothing to lose at this point, so might as well converse, right?

“You gonna make me spell it out for you?”

“Will it make you shut up?”

Bellamy shrugged amusedly. “It’s obvious it’s not about the plane.” When he seemed satisfied with the dumb-founded expression Murphy wore, he got on. “I know people like you.”

“Oh, do you? Tell me about it, I beg you.”

He continued, unfazed, “You’re afraid of living. You’re afraid of love. You’re afraid of sex.”

Murphy felt his cheeks burn hot, but he didn’t want to back down. “Plain bullshit.”

Bellamy turned, apparently shocked by his lack of faith, “It is not. It shows on your face. Everything about you, really. The way you’re dressed today too. You are vanilla.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?!”

“You’re the kind of person who in bed waits for the other people to…” and he gestured vaguely with his hand, suggestive expression firm on his face.

“You don’t know anything about me, fucker.” Murphy scowled. Emori had never complained about him, and he was going to let Bellamy know how wrong he was. “Emori never complained.”

Bellamy wore a smug grin that Murphy would have liked to punch out of his face, but fortunately he stuck to words. “You sitting there and telling me what and who I am and am not is honestly a fucking idiocy.” He hitched to add that they both conducted a stressful life, and that dead periods happened to everybody, but he managed to keep the need to over-share under control.

Bellamy, on his part, turned his face away as calmly as he could, looking out the window. “What an amazing view.”

Murphy looked too, and then he realized that he  was staring into infinite blue and the fluffy white blobs staining it so beautifully. He gaped for ten solid seconds, and when he shifted his gaze on Bellamy, the man had a raised eyebrow. Suddenly he got up, justifying his leave with, “Gotta take care of natural business, you know.” And made his way wherever the bathroom was.

Murphy still didn’t make a sound, too astonished to realize properly what had just happened.

~

Bellamy carefully unknotted the thread, making sure the small plant didn’t get crumpled in the process. He then proceeded to spray a little water on it, removing the precious necklace before.

He looked at it with satisfaction and a strange sense of pride, as if it was his very own child.

It kind of was, if he thought about it. It was his future, and a very promising one. He wouldn’t let anything come in between him and his projects  this time. Not his delinquent past, not his sister, not his parents.

Just as carefully as he had began, he secured the plant and the necklace in their designed wrapping, putting it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He took a deep breath, fixed his hair in the mirror and exited the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

“What was your name again?”

“Bellamy.”

“Bellemy.”

“Bellamy.”

“Belamy.”

“No, no,” Bellamy instructed, “Stop with the American accent. It’s Bellamy.”

Murphy nodded, a little annoyed. His travelling companion noticed his pensive expression, “You wanted to ask me something?”

He did, but how to phrase it? He was very much bothered by the analysis the – seemingly – older guy made of him. And even if it was clearly a way of keeping his mind off the takeoff, it still frustrated him. “No, nevermind. Forget it.”

“Forgot it.”

Murphy couldn’t believe the worlds that were about to leave his mouth. “Did you mean it? What you said.”

Bellamy stared at him interrogatively. Murphy continued, “Do I really look like I’m boring?”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows, befuddlement flickering through his eyes. “Well. You know,” Bellamy fidgeted with his words and Murphy catched a millisecond of embarrassment before a bashful yet daring smirk planted itself on his lips. “How old you were when you lost it?”

Murphy stared. “Lost what?”

“You know, your… flower?”

“My flower?” Murphy snorted. Of all euphemisms he had to choose the most ridiculous one?

“You know what I mean, man,” Bellamy snarled. Murphy felt as if his space was being intruded, but as he went through the image of his first time, he considered. Why was he so prudish about it? Not that there was something bad about being prudish, that is, but he was never one to feel uncomfortable when talking about sex.

“My first time,” Bellamy began, probably prompted by his silence (it must have looked like reluctance), “Was with, er— this girl. I was 15, her name was Roma. She was with one of my older friends, but at the time I didn’t really give a damn, you know. ”

Murphy nodded, as Bellamy went on. “I kind of rushed into it, but I guess it’s personal. Some people like to wait, some people don’t.”

“Obviously.” Murphy let out one word just to let him know he wasn’t utterly evading the discussion.

“She wasn’t even that beautiful, but she had quite a pretty mouth.”

“Ew, let’s stop there.” Murphy pulled a face making Bellamy chuckle lightly.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Bellamy clarified, “Not so boring after all, though, are we,”

Murphy hated that he could feel hotness spread across his face, and he gathered all his strength in keeping his gaze straight ahead. He decided that a slight change in subject could only make things better. “You liked her?”

“Nah,” Bellamy immediately yelped, as if Murphy had somehow offended him, “We didn’t even kiss. All I got out of it was a couple orgasms and a punch on my nose. But it was worth it.” Murphy felt his head spin a little at the bluntness of his statement, but he didn’t dwell on it. It was not like he had taken Bellamy for much of a sugar coater, albeit they hadn’t been talking for longer than a couple of hours.

Murphy shrugged, “Kisses are too intimate, I get that.” And he could see Bellamy ogling him incredulously.

“Kisses are intimate?”

“Yeah, you don’t just kiss everybody.” Murphy explained. “Sex is something you do out of passion or out of whatever impulse you are feeling at the moment. It doesn’t have to be deep. It can be, but it’ mostly about physicality. A kiss instead is about connection. You kiss people you love and care about. You kiss your mom, your sibling, your lover. You don’t kiss your fuck-buddy. Or well, you do, but it stops there. Kissing a person you feel for is a whole other experience.”

Bellamy was stunned into silence. “Fuck, that was some heavy shit.” He breathed. “Your turn.” He gained back his cockiness after a moment of what Murphy could classify as astonishment. Murphy gaped, divided by his inclination to just over share and his judgment telling him to stop spilling his whole life to a stranger on a plane of all places.

But in the back of his mind, just this reason made him do it. They weren’t going to see each other after this. Bellamy would return to be a stranger, and Murphy would go on with his life as this never happened. He dealt with it.

“It was with, uh, this girl. Fox.” He fidgeted a bit with his fingers, “At a party. She led me in her basement and we did it while watching TV.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Shut up, we were 17.”

“Still,”

“It didn’t last long anyway,”

“You mean you didn’t,” Bellamy smirked.

“Shut up.” He felt himself blushing violently, and he internally cursed. “It doesn’t matter. I liked her, so we had a good time.”

Bellamy mumbled something, but Murphy didn’t catch it even if it that moment he was glancing at the man sideways. “Have you even loved someone?”

“I loved my mother.” Bellamy answered, a tight edge to his tone.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, have you been in love?”

“That’s a boring question.”

“No, it’s not,” Murphy argued, “It’s like you think you have it figured out, that you can do just about anything. And then something happens.”

“Something happened?” Bellamy asked, but in his tone mild annoyance.

Murphy looked at him for a long moment, until he noticed his firm gaze glued to his face and turned to him, raising an eyebrow. Murphy sighed. “I understand. You probably are one of those people who sees love as a burden and something to run from. A long-term relationship is like a rope around your neck and all, right?”

Bellamy frowned. “What?”

“Touchy subject?” Murphy smirked.

Bellamy turned, visibly offended, and his frown deepened as he sat straighter. “Careful.”

Murphy flushed slightly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to meddle.”

“That’s ok.” He said, turning his head away with a shrug. After a second he excused himself again, muttering about drinking too much and making his way to the bathroom.

Murphy was left slightly confused. He shrugged and decided to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the flight.

~

Bellamy was finally outside the airport, his mind already working on his next move. He was going to call a cab and be the most unsuspecting person to ever be. He gripped the handle of his bag, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him from moving. He turned, and his heart skipped a beat when he recognized the man who stood behind him, smirking lazily.

“What are you doing here?”

“Miller,” he groaned, “Don’t you ever take your family somewhere, to have fun or something?”

His best friend turned cop smiled wider. “I’ll give you a ride if you give me your passport and plane ticket.”

“I guess I can’t decline the offer,”

“Yup,” he nodded, gesturing for him to follow after. They reached Miller’s car, and Bellamy groaned when he saw Miller climbing in the backseat with him.

“Hi Monty,” Bellamy greeted when he got inside, receiving a kind smile and a greeting by Miller’s husband. Their child was in the passenger seat, turned to look at Bellamy with curiosity in her eyes. When she noticed her dad opening Bellamy’s bag and starting to go through it, she frowned.

“Dad, why are you looking through this man’s things?”

Miller looked at Bellamy with what Bellamy could classify as a paternal stare. “I’m doing him a favor, Emmy. He will thank me later.” Bellamy hated when he did that; the man felt like he needed to babysit him just because he had a badge and he had been caught stealing some times. As if he hadn’t been on his side of the road just five or six years ago.

“Turn around, cœur.” Monty reprimanded from the driver’s seat, and the girl hastily sat properly.

“You won’t find anything,” Bellamy said, knowing full well it wouldn’t stop the man from rummaging through his things. Fortunately, he was smarter than that. If Bellamy owned any redeeming qualities, among them you could certainly find cleverness. His temper always got him in trouble, but more often than not, quick-thinking had been his savior. His treasure was currently safe and sound, tucked into one of the pockets of his travelling companion’s bag. The man had not realized it when Bellamy had hid it, too preoccupied in whining about his poor love life, and Bellamy had seized the occasion.

“Just making sure,” Miller mumbled. He finished after a minute, closing it and casting a small approving glance his way.

“Are you really a thief?” the girl was facing him again, looking at him with wonder.

“Who, me?” Bellamy pointed to himself, incredulously. “Depends,” he whispered, smiling when she widened her eyes and gasped.

“But dad said you saved his life,”

Bellamy nodded, but Miller interjected before he could speak. “It’s true,” he assured, “Do you remember the big scar on my stomach?” he asked her, at which she nodded solemnly, “Bellamy stopped it from being even bigger.”

The girl jumped, “Then you’re not a criminal!”

“That’s what I keep telling him, Em.” Miller agreed before addressing his husband. “Monty, go left.”


	4. Chapter 4

Murphy entered the big, luxurious hotel. He immediately spotted the reception and stomped his way there. He was in no mood to take bullshit from anybody. He rang the bell, and the man at the table turned to smile at him. However, his smile not so subtly dropped when he took in his appearance.

“Um, hi. Do you speak any English?”

“Good evening, sir. Of course I do. This is the George V, sir.” His voice dripped contempt for his assumption.

“Awesome.” This only word granted him a grimace.

“How may I help you, sir?”

“Could you tell me in which room is Emori Lewis?”

Murphy’s request was met with a contrite smile and silence.

“She’s waiting for me.” He insisted,  growing impatient.

“I’m afraid, sir, that I can’t give you this information. The safety of our clients is the most important, and no appointment results on my registers for today.”

“Come on, man,” he pleaded, sounding far too desperate even to himself.

“Perhaps, monsieur could try the courtesy phone.”

“ _Monsieur_ has already tried the courtesy phone,” he said irritably, “Look. I spent the last seven hours on a plane. I’m fucking terrified of planes. I’m tired, hungry and I just want to see my fiancée. Will you help me now?”

“I repeat, I’m afraid I can’t do anything, sir.”

“Fucking French hypocrites,” Murphy seethed, unable to stop himself. He cursed to himself before coming up to his last resort, the one of slipping a banknote of 50 euro’s on the table. He watched as the man inspected it, then took it and slipped it into the pocket of his elegant jacket. Then he turned around, ignoring Murphy altogether.

“What the fuck?” he shouted. “I just gave you 50 euro’s!”

“And I took it.” He replied calmly, flashing a fake smile once again. “Please let me know if I can help you further, sir.”

Murphy groaned, slapping a hand on his own face. He turned and launched himself on one of the fancy yellow sofas decorating the hall, dropping his backpack on the floor near his feet. He rubbed his temples, frustrated and angry at himself for launching himself in such a misadventure.

“Are you American?”

Murphy turned and found bright blue eyes staring into his. They belonged to a blonde, attractive stranger who was sat at the other end of the sofa, leaning slightly towards him and sporting a suave smile.

“For now, yes,” he answered tiredly.

“Forgive me for intruding,” she scooted closer, “But I saw you slumping here and I thought, why should a beautiful person such as yourself let to be this sad?”

Murphy rolled his eyes, “Thanks, I guess.”

She smiled charmingly. “My name is Clarke.”

“John,” he supplied, but as she opened her mouth to speak again he cut her off, “And look, you’re really pretty and all, but I’m waiting for my fiancée.” He got up, turning towards the reception, and preparing himself for another attempt at getting through. “If she sees me talking to you she will…”

He had just raised his gaze when he saw them. They were in the elevator. His mouth hanged open, breath catching as he watched them, their bodies completely glued to each other’s, as were their mouths. They were kissing, disregarding the world around them altogether, too consumed in the moment to notice that even when they broke apart and strolled down the hall hand in hand, smiling enthusiastically, Murphy was staring at them, mouth agape. His heart hammered in his chest, and a fine veil of cold sweat covered the palms of his hands.

He turned around and the beautiful stranger, Clarke, was nowhere to be seen; he wanted to react in some way, but all too soon his surroundings became blurry, and the world around him slowly faded to black.

~

Bellamy jogged down the side of the road, finally reaching the hotel’s door. He stopped to catch his breath, but he had to hurry. The man he had tried to stole a bike from was currently chasing him, and even though he had managed to outrun him (Bellamy knew Paris better than most, after all) he could hear the roar of the motorcycle in the distance, accompanied by angry yelling. He wasn’t risking it.

He hurried inside, but a body collided against his as he approached it.

Blonde hair was all he saw, and then he was gripping Clarke Griffin’s shoulders.

“Clarke?” he frowned.

“Bell,” she smiled, surprised, “Long time no see.”

“Didn’t you do the metro?”

“Ah, you know, profit’s better here.” She provided with a shrug, “Gotta go, Bell. Say hi to O!” and with that she ran.

Bellamy waved her goodbye, shaking his head with a smile, and went inside just in time to see his man falling to the floor. He rushed at his side, and not knowing how to deal with it, he kept patting his cheek lightly.

“Come on, dude, wake up,” he begged. But the man didn’t respond, and Bellamy muttered a string of imprecations in French, just in case the other woke up and heard him.

Someone brought him a glass of water, so he poured it in the guy’s face, witnessing as he slowly came to.

“Hey there,” he smiled.

“Emori?”

“Eh, not quite,”

“Where are we?”

“In your hotel,”

“I don’t have a room here,” he argued groggily, sitting up. “My room is taken by a goddess in heels and a red dress,”

He scratched at his head, and suddenly his eyes were widening, “My bags. Where are my bags?”

A chill ran down Bellamy’s spine. “What?”

“My bags are gone!” he yelled exasperatedly, getting up and looking around himself frantically.

“What do you mean gone?” Bellamy got up too, joining the other in his search. He felt horror surge up, and he started throwing up cushions and searching every inch of the place, refusing to believe his future was gone just like that.

“Goddamn, why are you looking under the cushions?! I lost my bag, not my fucking car keys!”

Bellamy turned to him, panting heavily. “Where did you put them? Think.”

Murphy stared into his eyes, the other’s intense gaze boring holes into his face. “I― I don’t know, I had them with me when I arrived there― _Oh my god_ , I lost everything! My passport, my credit cards, fuck―”

Murphy was interrupted by Bellamy’s French rambling, followed by him gripping his own face with his hands in what seemed realization and then he grabbing his arm and shouting, “Fucking Griffin!”

Murphy was pulled outside the hotel unceremoniously, left to wonder what the hell was the deal with French people.

~

“So you know who did it?” Murphy sat in the passenger seat while Bellamy drove.

“I think so,” he nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.

“And why are you helping me exactly?”

“Because… um, I like you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Murphy snorted.

“You think I drive every other stranger around Paris to search for some stolen shit?”

“No, but,” Murphy could come up with nothing.

“But I didn’t like the way you said ‘ _you’re French’_ when we were on the plane. Not a bit.”

“Why? How’d I say it?”

“Like you, I don’t know— with your nose all scrunched up.”

“I do not scrunch my nose.”

“You do. Anyway, I’m trying to understand here.”

“What?”

“So you fainted why exactly?”

Murphy swallowed, “I saw her,”

“Go on.”

“She was with this… she is the hottest girl who has walked the Earth, probably. She was all like, French, with the red dress and the high heels and she was fucking _ripped_ under all that.”

“I understand,” Bellamy prompted distractedly. “So, she tells you she met this woman. No, this… goddess. She breaks your heart, she, um…”

“Hurts me. Humbles me.”

“Humiliates you.”

“Humiliates me.”

“So you come to Paris just so that she can do it again. But this time right to your face.”

“No,” Murphy frowned,  “No, I come to Paris so I can get back the person I love. Is that so hard to understand, even for you?”

Bellamy ignored the insult, keeping on. “Ok, and what would have been your strategy?”

Murphy stared at Bellamy, almost glaring at him. “You don’t think I can win her back.”

“No, no, I’m honestly interested!”

Murphy squinted at him, but decided to believe him. “I would remind her of our plans. We had a perfect life, I would remind her of that. Of our futures, our plans for our home. Of how much we are happy together.”

“And if all that failed…”

“It won’t.”

“But if it did,” Bellamy insisted.

“I would…”

“Drop to your knees and beg.”

“It’s― I― well. If she really―”

“I can see it,” Bellamy interrupted, making Murphy gasp at the insinuation that he would be so pathetic. “There are Emori and her goddess, and then you, on your knees next to them, begging. Poor Emori. What a tough decision.”

“I don’t beg.” Murphy grunted, crossing his arms.

“No, you faint,” Bellamy snickered.

“If you know so much about relationships,” Murphy retorted angrily, “Why there was no one at the airport to get you?”

“I’m through with them.”

“Trouble finding the right one?”

“I have found plenty of them.”

Murphy smirked slowly, sensing the uncomfortable edge to his voice, “You are afraid of commitment.”

“I am not afraid of anything.” Bellamy was frowning, and his voice was near a whisper. He was gripping the wheel with a little too much force, Murphy noticed. But Bellamy himself changed the subject, not waiting for Murphy to. “Anyway, we’re reaching Clarke’s apartment. Come up with me, so you can tell me what is missing of your stuff.”

Bellamy knocked twice, and then the door opened.

“Hi, Clarke,” he said as soon as the blonde landed eyes on them. Murphy was about to greet her too (yes, she had stolen from him, but he had manners), when Bellamy launched himself inside the house, making the girl stumble backwards a bit.

A heated discussion in French took place, and Murphy was sure that at some point Bellamy was going to jump the girl and knock her unconscious, but the both of them had noticed guns lying on the table near the window, so he probably wasn’t risking it.

The girl wasn’t getting in the way of Bellamy’s search throughout the apartment, even though she leaned on the wall with a pretty concerned expression. Murphy was getting more frustrated by the minute, not getting a single word of what they said.

“So? My passport? My suitcase?” he asked Bellamy. Bellamy repeated his question to the girl, who answered in French yet again.

“She sold the passport, gave your suitcase to Lexa,”

“Fucking hell,” Murphy stared into the void as Bellamy kept searching, god knows for what. He had his empty backpack in his hands, and Murphy was a bit offended that he was turning it inside out repeatedly with so little care. He wanted to protest but suddenly he saw Bellamy pulling a crooked sachet out of it, relief and serenity washing over his features as he smiled brightly. At first, Murphy was about to ask Bellamy what the hell was he doing, carrying a plant in a tiny bandage and most of all why was he treating it like his life depended on it, but then he suddenly understood why the man had really helped him in the first place.

“Go fuck yourself,” he muttered, stomping his way out the door. He was already halfway down the stairs when he heard someone running after him.

“Hey,” Bellamy called, “I’m sorry about your stuff.”

“You hid it in my backpack, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted with a grimace.

“Did you even stop to think that they could have fucking stopped me at customs?”

Bellamy clicked his tongue, “Don’t be ridiculous, people like you don’t get stopped. Look at you, you’d declare a pack of chewing gum.”

“Again, go fuck yourself,”

“Listen, stop for a― stop running!” Bellamy cried. Murphy stopped, turning to look at the man with the most deadpan expression he could manage. “You have no idea how much this vine is important to me. I’m going to make a great vineyard someday. I take this little American vine and mix it with some others and―”

“I really fucking couldn’t care less.” Murphy stated, “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” And he turned.

“Wait,” Bellamy called again, and Murphy only listened because he sounded desperate enough. He was extending him a roll of money, “Here, this is yours,”

“I don’t fucking want your money.”

“It’s literally yours! Clarke made it from selling your stuff, you should take it.”

Murphy took it, studied it for a moment and then threw it at Bellamy’s face. “Keep it, you fucking idiot.” And with that he was gone.

He grit his teeth, walking away while anger still cursed through his body. He felt sick to the stomach, and suddenly the realization dawned on him: he was alone in a city― in a _country_ he didn’t know, with no one to trust and with nowhere to crash at. He swiftly went back and collected the money that was still scattered on the ground.

~

Bellamy sat in the car, unfolding the bandage carefully. He held his breath, finally able to gain control back.

He stared at the plant, then at the gauze.

He blinked once.

 It wasn’t there.

~

He pulled at Clarke’s shirt. “Clarke, if you gave it to Lexa and you’re lying to me―”

“I’m not, I swear! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she insisted, holding her arms up.

Bellamy looked into her eyes for a couple of seconds, assessing that she was telling the truth. He let go of her and released a shaky breath.

He should have known better.


	5. Chapter 5

Murphy was on the verge of crying in the middle of the street. He had visited the American embassy, which had refused to give him a new passport because he had failed to mention that he might have spent a couple of nights in jail for  possession of a narcotic. Holy hell, it was marijuana and he had he only did it once (he hated it and never tried it again), why couldn’t they just pretend it hadn’t happened?

And now there he was, more desperate and alone than ever, dialing Emori’s sister number at the train station. She answered after a short time.

“Hello, who is this?”

“Maya, it’s me.”

“Oh my god, John,” her voice was laced with pity, which Murphy detested, but she probably knew why he was calling, and Murphy couldn’t bring himself to resent her for it. He would pity himself too.

“Maya, I feel so fucking― I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“I’m so sorry this is happening. She proposed to her, what an asshole.”

“She _didn’t_ ,” Murphy gaped, “Please tell me this is a joke.”

“They are going to South France to meet her father. I’m so sorry, biscuit.”

“What the hell,”

“They are getting married and then getting back to Toronto. They haven’t even invited us. Not that I’d go. I wouldn’t.”

“Maya,” Murphy let out her name with a broken sigh, trying to calm himself. “I just― I need you to tell me some things.”

~

“Je sais pas.” Clarke repeated calmly.

“I’m going to ask you once,” Miller warned, “And then I won’t ask anymore. So think, and then give me a name.”

Clarke stared at the floor; she was clearly nervous, but she managed to hide it well enough with a light smirk gracing her lips. She finally looked up, meeting the inspector’s hard gaze.

“Bellamy Blake,” she said, “Ask him about a stolen necklace.”

Miller closed his eyes and sighed.  

Clarke chuckled, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Vous êtes heureux?”

~

Bellamy was sure that this was either his best or worst day. He had lost and found the damn necklace a billion times, and now here he was, breathless yet again and trying to find the owner of the stupid backpack he decided to trust with his future.

He had gone through the first six stops, and he was beginning to lose patience, hope, the last spark of dignity in his body and possibly a few pounds along all of that. He wasn’t complaining yet.

He looked around, repeating the same motion he had performed a hundred times in the last twenty minutes, but this time his luck didn’t abandon him. He spotted him; the annoying American fellow, dressed in black from head to toe, and currently wiping at his face, slumped near the station telephone.

He smiled, both out of amusement and satisfaction, and swaggered his way up to the guy.

“We meet again,” he smiled widely, as charmingly as he could. Murphy, on the other hand, didn’t seem too keen on charm. His face was devastated, his hair disheveled and he looked overall exhausted. “Oh, come on. Giving up already?”

“Screw you,” he sniffed, “She’s fucking getting married. In _Cannes_!”

Bellamy pouted, “That’s bad!”

Murphy looked at him with a raised brow, “You tell me.”

“And you’re going to let go? Just like that?”

“Just like that? What the fuck do you mean just like that. Dude, I came to France. On a plane. _Me_! I hate France and you freaking French people,” Murphy launched himself in a ramble that Bellamy didn’t care enough about to listen to.

“Alright, alright, listen,” Bellamy chimed in, “You love her, no?” Murphy nodded, still holding a brooding frown. “You must show it to her!”

“Dude, literally. I travelled across the ocean.”

“Murphy!” he gasped, “Where is all your American persistence gone? I admired you!”

“Well, deal with that,” he said, getting up and  shaking his shoulders, “I’m going back home, someway. And I’m not American, by the way. I’m soon-to-be Canadian, thank you very much.” And he motioned to pick up his things.

“No!” Bellamy almost shouted, fear gripping him when his eyes landed on the backpack Murphy had just lifted from the ground. “Listen to me.”

“All ears.”

“I will help you win her back.”

“Let’s hear how.”

“We’ll go to Cannes―”

“Oh my god, I already came in my pants.”

“―we’ll go to Cannes and we’ll, uh, we’ll―”

“Oh, shut up already!” Murphy spat, “I haven’t spent a millisecond with you when you weren’t after something.”

“It is true!” Bellamy admitted, trying to keep up with Murphy’s fast pace. “And I want to make it up to you!”

“Suck my dick,”

“Well, if that’s what it takes,” Bellamy shrugged casually. That made the younger man stop in his tracks, as he turned to look at him with a raised brow and a deadpan stare. Bellamy took advantage of the moment of pause to keep talking. “We’ll take the train to Cannes, and then we’ll figure it all out. Nice and clean.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“Well, you _did_ hide an unspecified plant in my bag that I didn’t―”

“Alright, let’s stop there. Plenty reasons, I guess. But we can help each other.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“So what is your plan when you see Emori again?” Murphy stood silent. “Still no plan? There, you need my help.”

Murphy looked at the ground, then at Bellamy’s expectant eyes. He dropped his gaze again, and when it lifted it up, Bellamy was sporting a smirk.

~

“So how did you two meet?”

“I went to Toronto for a teaching job.”

“You teach?”

“English Lit.”

“That’s so you,” Bellamy snickered.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, go on.”

He shrugged. “She was just passing by the school for a conference, I think. We talked, and I don’t know. I felt… it wasn’t like they describe it, you know? It wasn’t obnoxious bells and angels singing. It was more of a―”

“Soft ukulele?”

Murphy snorted, “You really don’t know the feeling, do you?” Bellamy shrugged, looking intently at the picture of her Murphy gave him. Murphy smiled sadly, “She has beautiful eyes.”

“Vain. It is a word, no?”

“It is. But they aren’t that. She knows she has beautiful eyes, and you can see it in her smile.”

“Smirk.”

Murphy nodded, smiling a bit, “No, she’s stunning.”

Bellamy handed the photography back, and this time he was genuinely curious about all of it. “Why are you still chasing her after all of this?”

“I love her,” he answered simply, swallowing and keeping his stare down. “I don’t want to think about life without her. It doesn’t even make sense. If she doesn’t come back, I… I don’t know what I will do with myself. I can’t love anybody else.”

“You say that now,” Bellamy shook his head, “But it will change.”

“It won’t,” Murphy insisted, far too convinced for Bellamy’s liking.

“No, it won’t. You will forget her. First it will be her voice. Then her eyes. Then her smile, her laugh, her hair, and everything after. Her smell, the color of her eyes, everything will leave you.”

Murphy stared at him, enraptured. Bellamy glanced at him only briefly, uncomfortable with the astonishment in his eyes. “And then one day she’s gone and you can begin again.”

Silence was heavy between the two of them for a never-ending moment. Murphy swallowed down, blinking. “I’m going to sleep.”

Bellamy nodded, confused at himself for letting his mouth run that way.

~

If he could be a tad gentler, he could move the backpack for really mere centimeters and then the opening would be at his hands, he would stuff his hand inside of it and come up with the goddamned necklace. His life could be simple again, he would enjoy his ride and once he reached Cannes he would leave this doofus and start a new life.

But his hands were clumsy, his breath hitched too sonorously and he was too close to the other man’s face for any noise not to be heard. Still he tried, teasing the blue-eyed boy ― it wasn’t like you couldn’t notice he had the clearest eyes ever, and they made him seem so young ―in order to make his shift just enough that the bag underneath his head would slip away easier. He had risked waking him three times already, and he was getting pretty damn nervous at himself. One more time and he was sure he was going to wake up, and Bellamy was going to be ruined possibly.

He shifted once again, and Bellamy cursed silently as he saw him opening his mouth to speak softly. “Emori?”

He suddenly gripped Bellamy’s arm, and Bellamy panicked, almost stumbling upon him. He catched himself just in time, finding himself hovering onto Murphy’s face. He swallowed. Murphy didn’t seem to be waking up, but he moved his head as if he was searching for something, his hand still gripping Bellamy’s arm tightly.

“Emori,” he repeated, breathier than before, and suddenly his face was all up in Bellamy’s face. His lips ghosted over his, and Bellamy sucked in a breath in shock. Wrong move apparently, because that granted Murphy full access to his mouth, which he latched with his own immediately.

His hand moved to his hair, and Bellamy was pretty sure Emori didn’t have curly short hair; however, that didn’t seem to bother Murphy as he gripped it hard. Bellamy was too surprised to do anything for a second. That changed when Murphy ran his tongue over his, sending Bellamy’s sense to hell with his already weak moral backbone. He closed his eyes and just went with it, kissing Murphy just as enthusiastically as the other had done.

Then, when it was getting to the part where Bellamy was really starting to feel it, it ended, and Murphy turned around with a contented hum.

Bellamy stood there, frozen and unable to form a proper reaction. He could only blink, his mouth agape and tingling with― with?

He shut his mouth, clenching his jaw.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where Octavia's a bit on an asshole. Yup.

“Good morning,” Murphy’s groggy voice came from behind his shoulders, but he didn’t dare to turn.

The man stretched lazily, and Bellamy hated that he noticed his black shirt ― he seemed to only own black clothes ― riding up, showing the skin of his lower stomach. He sat across him, and Bellamy could affirm that he was in a good mood.

“How’d you sleep?”

“I didn’t,” Bellamy replied truthfully.

“I slept like a toddler.” Murphy smiled brightly. “I feel refreshed and― oh my god, that’s cheese.”

Bellamy glanced at the tiny plate on the table. “Yes.”

Murphy looked at it like it had personally offended him, somewhere between cautious and intrigued. “I haven’t had that in years.”

“Go at it, my friend,” Bellamy gestured.

Murphy grabbed a piece of the dairy product, bringing it to his lips and swallowing it. After a few seconds of experimental chewing, his expression illuminated and he moaned loudly. “This is so fucking good,” and he proceeded on shoving piece after piece of different kinds of cheese on the table, rambling about the variety of French cheese and something called lacto― lactine―

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the train.” Murphy said, “Not that I care, just. You know.”

“Uh?” Bellamy saw him smirk playfully, and a knot twisted in his stomach. He was feeling nauseous, on the verge of spitting out his liver or something. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” he accepted with a shrug, and Bellamy was grateful for a moment that he didn’t try to pry in.

He looked out the window, and saw the familiar countryside landscape stretching in front of his eyes, green, almost idyllic, peaceful and untouched by the rest of society as he remembered.

“You know this place.” Murphy interrupted whatever consideration he could have thought, and Bellamy saw he was looking at him with assuredness, and yet with a note of healthy curiosity. The quietness in his tone and his relaxed features prevented the question from being as intrusive as it would otherwise have been; Bellamy didn’t grimace, didn’t turn around and ignore him, but rather felt strangely prone to sharing.

“I was born here.”

“Seriously? This place looks beautiful.”

“It is.”

“Why did you leave then?” Murphy chewed on his lower lip, as if nervous. Bellamy found it maddening.

“I had to.”

He was staring at his half empty cup of coffee, expecting the crucial question, fatally bound to be asked. But nothing came, and as Bellamy was telling himself that maybe Murphy was better off not knowing, a sound startled him.

“Ah, I think…” Murphy had gone exceptionally pale, and he was clutching at his stomach with an highly bothered expression, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“What?” Bellamy breathed, utterly confused at such a sight.

“I’m gonna die.” Bellamy wanted to roll his eyes at his dramatics, but he was in no state to actually do it.

“What?” he repeated dully.

“Stop the rocking.” Murphy uttered through his teeth.

“I can’t, it is the train.”

Murphy closed his eyes and threw his head backwards, inhaling deeply. “It’s here.”

“What?” he repeated, “What is here?”

“Lactose intolerance.” He growled, and winced in visible pain. Without another world, he jumped up and ran away, leaving  a dumbfounded Bellamy to stare at his departing figure.

~

“All good?”

“Yeah, let’s say that.” Murphy conceded; his face looked as far as possible from good, slightly flushed and teary-eyed, but Bellamy wasn’t going to inquire further.

“Why don’t you sit for a while?”

“I gotta walk.”

Murphy took a few steps and he instantly curved forward, gripping Bellamy’s arm for dear life. “You know what, I think I’m gonna just sit.”

Bellamy smirked.

~

Murphy had seen an awful lot of bad things in his life, but he could say that since he left his childhood house and town he had seen many beautiful things too.

But the place he was currently in, it felt like it had come straight from a painting. Houses were short, built in creamy, soft-hued stone, with balconies laden with all kinds of flowers and plants. Murphy felt at peace, and he could see that constant  jitteriness gripping Bellamy’s figure had lowered down, even if not significantly. He had been a different kind of tense since they had started their train trip, and though he wasn’t particularly interested in knowing what it was that bugged him, he felt still rather curious.

Bellamy walked with his hands shoved in his pockets, his pace slow, his gaze taking in all that surrounded them, just as Murphy’s. “I missed this, you know,”

Murphy swallowed, feeling out of place all of a sudden, “How long have you been gone?”

“Six, seven years,” he replied casually, “Who is counting anymore.”

“Shit, that’s a long time, man,” Murphy felt like it was the most obvious thing to say, but he couldn’t help the awkwardness.

“It happens,” was Bellamy’s explanation, and Murphy was torn between two impulses (not for the first time since his life with Bellamy): minding his own damn business, as he would normally have, and ask him why, who, what, where, when and how, as the journalism class in high school had taught him.

He mentally kicked himself, “Why so?” he settled on asking, preparing himself for the angry retort.

For a long moment, Bellamy stayed silent. “I’d rather not do this,”

Murphy blinked slowly. “That’s― that’s a-okay,” he started, but then his curiosity had the best of him, “What to you mean by ‘this’, though?”

“This,” Bellamy stopped in his tracks, not really looking at Murphy. His voice had a frustrated edge, “You asking about me and personal things. It’s not a thing I want to talk about.”

Murphy completely understood what he was saying, mostly because he reminded of himself before Emori. “It’s fine, but you don’t have to be like that either.”

“Like what?” he almost spit it like venom.

“Hyper masculine and shit. You know what happens to people like you?”

“Do tell.”

“They fester,” Murphy said seriously, “The fester inside and rot. You will become one of those—”

“Octavia,” Bellamy interrupted, and Murphy was ready to protest if he hadn’t seen the dismal gaze Bellamy was directing at a brunette that sat outside a café. She was clearly younger than they were, but her face betrayed sufferance and sleepless nights.

“Who’s that?” Murphy asked.

“Excuse me,” Bellamy stalked to her without a regard for Murphy’s question. He observed them from a distance; he saw Bellamy stop a meter from her, calling her name. Before turning around, she gripped the glass of alcohol she was sipping from, a mendacious glare in her eyes. When she turned they started discussing, their pace too fast for Murphy to even read their lips (as if, anyway).

In a matter of seconds, the girl was kicking and screaming at Bellamy, and passersby tried to hold her in vain from throwing the wildest punches Murphy had ever seen. Bellamy mostly tried to defend himself, and as she was finished she ran away, leaving him on his knees, his eyes empty.


	7. Chapter 7

Bellamy pressed the ice patch over his black eye, wincing audibly. “All the vineyard is Octavia’s,” he told Murphy, “It’s been our family’s for generations. But Octavia… she doesn’t really care,”

“Seemed pretty full with care twenty minutes ago,”

“It’s not like that. She never drank wine, never wanted anything to do with the family business.”

Bellamy had by now lost any desire to keep Murphy out. If they were going to do what they had to, must as well include Murphy in the shit show that was his life. “Our mother left the vineyard to me and Octavia when she passed. Now it’s completely hers,” he sighed, “It was all my fault. It started when I accidentally… I forced her fiancé to leave. First we fought, then one night she got me drunk and… I gambled a lot at the time,”

“You lost your vineyard,”

“One hand of poker it’s what it took,” Bellamy nodded, trying to smirk, but his eyes were still strong with regret after all the years.

“What about the rest of the family?”

“Not much of them around. But they loathe me anyway. They’d hate to see me.”

~

A child that couldn’t be olden than four attached herself to Murphy’s leg; another two run around him, chasing a ball.

Murphy looked up at Bellamy, who in return was gaping at him with a raised brow. The girl detached herself from him to run inside the house gate; there he waited his father.

Bellamy walked quite slowly, unsure of what would be his reaction. Murphy saw as he quietly whispered words to him, and as soon as he was finished, the man hugged him, exhaustion and relief in his features. Then Bellamy turned to Murphy, and he could discern he was introducing him, so he put to use the three French word he knew, uttering a greeting.

He heard them talk, probably catching up.

“Qui est-il?”

“Il est… un ami,”

“Un ami? Depuis quand tu invites tes amis à la maison?”

“Depuis lui.”

“Mh, je vais accepter ce pour le moment. Ne pensez pas que ce soit fini, jeune homme,” Murphy had learned his names was Marcus. Marcus flashed them both a smile before leading them towards a long table at which a multitude of smiling, laughing people sat.

~

“They are all so nice, how come you belong to this family,”

“Yeah, keep making fun of me,”

“I’m not making fun of you, it’s the simple truth,” Murphy insisted, but a smile was already spreading through his face as they walked in the country. “Where are we going?”

“My house, I grew up there. It’s abandoned now,” he supplied, indicating an old building.

They entered it and climbed up the stairs into a tiny, dusty bedroom; Murphy could already tell whom it belonged to.

“Is this your room?”

“Yes,”

He took in all of it. Messy comic books sprawled on various shelves, an old LPs player, articles cut off from papers of sportive events. A wooden box resting on the writing desk. “What is that?”

“Ah,” Bellamy immediately smiled, with a hint of melancholy to it, “It’s an old school project.”

Murphy put his hand on it before he could object, but quickly corrected himself. “Can I see?”

“I’ll show you,” he took it from his hands, and Murphy felt Bellamy’s fingers brush over his for a second. He gulped down the feeling. Bellamy opened the box, revealing many vials, tiny bottles and ampoules filled with dark, transparent, pallid liquids. “But first,” Bellamy brought the glass of wine he had taken with himself to Murphy’s attention, “Drink this.”

“I don’t really—” Murphy stopped himself. What could he lose really? He took the glass and under Bellamy’s patient gaze he drank. “It’s red wine. Um, it’s… pretty strong.”

“You can do better,” he chuckled, taking the glass from his hand. Again, their fingers touched. Bellamy took one of the little bottles, opened it and brought it to Murphy’s nose.  

“Smell.”

He recognized it as lavender. Bellamy repeated the process three times with three different flasks; rosemary, mint, currant. “These are all smells form around here. Now, drink again,” he prompted.

Murphy took the glass skeptically, sipping again. His eyes widened almost comically, and Bellamy’s smile grew, “The currant,”

“Exactly,” Bellamy nodded slowly, his eyes full of a brightness he was seeing for the first time.

“And… lavender?”

“Good,” he nodded again.

“It’s amazing. And you did all that?” he said, referring to the box. Bellamy nodded, Murphy could swear a hint of bashfulness was there. They locked eyes for a long, long moment, and Murphy had to make sure he didn’t choke on the wine at the sight.

Bellamy broke it when he looked out the window, the heaviness back in his whole demeanor as he gazed at the vineyard. “One day I’m going to buy this land, and I'm going to make a great wine, right here on this wreck of a vineyard.”

“You’d really do anything, uh?” Murphy asked, “You’d drop to your knees and beg.” Bellamy turned to him with a curious expression. “See, you’re not so different from me after all,” Murphy concluded.

Bellamy sighed, rubbing his face, “I can admit it,” he said; then, after a long moment, he added, “I’ll help you get Emori back, like I promised.”

“But what are you gonna do about the vineyard? You have to have some kind of strategy, right?”

“I, um, I had a plan. But it didn’t work out. I had to sell… something.”

“Something like?” Murphy inquired further, “Drugs? Plutonium? Your virginity?”

Bellamy huffed a laugh, “It doesn’t matter now. I lost it.”

“So no back-up plan? I thought you were smarter than that,” Murphy walked behind Bellamy, making sure the man wasn’t able to look at him as he finally revealed his whole strategy. “I’d have something more like… this.”

Bellamy turned, a frown on his face, just to see Murphy smiling deliriously, his lost necklace hanging between Murphy’s index and thumb.


	8. Chapter 8

“First of all, choose your battlefield,” Bellamy held up his thumb, “And please don’t tell her you want her and shit. That makes you seem desperate,”

“Which I am,” Murphy provided.

“But you don’t need them to _know_ ,” Bellamy hissed, reclining in his seat. “You see that girl?” he pointed at a tall brunette who sat at a table near them. With her, a man was excitedly recounting something while she seemed mildly disinterested. “She knows what she’s doing. She’s keeping him wanting.”

“That’s straight people bullshit.”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows, “That’s French people bullshit, know your sources,” Belamy joked, “Basically, you have to seem completely disinterested when you are not, and they’ll fall for you instantly. Say yes when you mean no, no when you mean yes. Understood?”

“No,” Murphy smirked.

“That’s why I like you,” Bellamy reached to pat him on the shoulder. Murphy raised a brow at his ridiculous advice, but he kept listening just because at least he was trying. “But the most important thing is that when she sees you, Emori is going to expect a big, dramatic scene. You’re not going to give her that.”

Murphy perked up, suddenly interested. Bellamy took that as an incentive to go on, but Murphy quickly shushed him. “That’s her,” he whispered, completely enthralled in the vision of Emori clutching her arm. “Her name is Raven,”

They didn’t come near where they were, but amiably strolled along the strand, soft smiles on their faces and enamored gazes all around. Murphy almost thought to have imagined it, if he didn’t know Bellamy was seeing it too. Raven wore a variant of the red dress he had seen her in, much less elegant, but still making her look like a goddess come to Earth to bless human kind with her sole presence. Her corvine hair was kept in a high pony-tail, accentuating her delicate features.

“She’s….”

“She’s what?” Bellamy turned at the sharp sound of his voice, “I know. I know. She’s sexy and I’m not. Just say it.”

“No, I didn’t say that,”

Murphy put his hands through his hair, “I don’t know how to compete. I can’t act like you told me with Emori. Or anyone. I smile when I’m happy and I frown when I’m sad, that’s as complicated as it gets with me.” Murphy stood up and started walking to the hotel where they had rented rooms. He could hear Bellamy follow behind him, but only when he reached the room he heard him quicken up to enter.

Murphy, saturated with frustration, sighed. “Listen, thank you for your help, but this is not gonna work out. You want me to act like someone I’m not and I’m not able to do that.”

“I don’t want that,” Bellamy defended himself weakly.

“What do you want then?” Murphy asked, exasperated.

“I want you…” Bellamy sucked in a breath, searching for words.

“You want…” Murphy wasn’t sure he had understood correctly, “Me?”

“I want you… to make Emori regret it,” Bellamy by now was breaking in a cold sweat, “Make her feel like you’re right there but she can’t reach out for you.”

Murphy watched him. He gazed in his eyes and then slowly let his eyes fall to the ground, “Do you think I still have a possibility?”

“Yes, of course,” Bellamy sat near him on the bed, “We will show them. Tomorrow,” the look of determination in his eyes made Murphy gain back his power of will.

Murphy didn’t sleep well that night, for more reasons than he was able to discern.

~

“Hi!” Murphy feigned surprise, “Emori! May I sit here with you and…”

“Raven,” Emori looked at him with wide eyes, “John. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just came to take a look at the woman who broke us up,”

“I didn’t break anything up that wasn’t already broken,” Raven spoke suddenly with an heavy French accent, making Murphy almost jump in surprise.

“She’s smart,” he faked a smile, “You are so lucky,” he said to Emori. She, on the other hand, seemed on the verge of a crisis, so Murphy quickly reassured her. “Calm down, E. I’m not here to start a fight.”

“So,” she started, visibly perplexed, “How are you?”

“See, I came all the way here, on a plane, you know, the thing I’m terrified of,”

“She didn’t ask you to do that,” Raven injected, and Emori put and hand on hers.

“So anyway, I had a plan. To win you back, right? But then…. something happened.” Murphy stopped, suddenly over the giddy façade he was sporting. He felt like he already had this conversation.

“John? What happened?”

Murphy was ready to serve her the speech he had mentally prepared, and he admitted he felt a rush of fieriness in knowing it would surely leave her speechless. “I.. everything to absolute shit. I mean, not that it wasn’t shit to start with. I was in a city I didn’t know, I still don’t know a word of French, with no friends, no family and no clue about what really happened. But it made me realize things, E. Just like it happened to you, I guess,” Murphy swallowed. “And that’s when I met Bellamy.”

At the end of his little monologue, though, Murphy didn’t feel as he had expected to feel. Emori’s reaction, as predicted, was shock, but it didn’t have on him the effect he had anticipated. He didn’t feel better with himself, he wasn’t counting the seconds until Emori finally recognized her errors, he didn’t even feel satisfied in having expressed his emotion as he had just done.

“Belemy?” Emori raised an eyebrow.

“Bel-la-my,” Murphy corrected quickly, his mind set on a new-found mission. “Anyway, I want to thank you for all this. I mean, who would have thought?”

“Is that— Is that him?” Emori pointed at a spot behind Murphy. He turned, seeing Bellamy with his hands in his pockets, leaning on a fence.

Murphy had been talking up until that moment of realizing things, but he was suddenly hit with a bigger, heavier understanding. It was like he was seeing him for the first time, with the disheveled hair and freckles and his lack of patience. “Yes, that’s him. You know what, I gotta go. It’s been nice,” he said, standing up abruptly. He was ready to go, but before he ran, he turned, wanting to end things on a better note. “I hope you are happy together. I mean this.”

And he went away, replaying in his head all the moments that led up to that one. Only now he realized the absurdity of the aim he had pursued, the madness of the whole journey he went on. Only now he saw what the reality was, but at the same time he realized the impossibility of it.

He stepped up to Bellamy. “Hey,” he said.

“So, how did it go?”

“Amazingly. I may have confused her big time, but she knows me,”

“Ok, so, tonight comes—”

“No, listen, Bell. I mean, Bellamy, it’s over. I’m over it.” Murphy flushed a bit because of his slip-up, “I’ve been a douche about this, even a bigger one than her. Let’s stop here.”

“Are you sure?” Bellamy asked carefully, and Murphy was happy he didn’t seem fazed by the accidental nickname.

“Yes. Let’s enjoy our last days here, then we can go sell your necklace and both of us will have gotten what we came for,” he assured.

Bellamy seemed pensive, but after a moment he nodded and a slow grin spread on his face. They walked all the way to the hotel, Bellamy making fun of Murphy while he feigned offence and slapped his arm playfully.


	9. Chapter 9

Murphy was making the most of this trip. He had been carefully avoiding any dish that contained dairy products, and his stomach thank him by digesting foods properly. He walked the streets alone while Bellamy handled his vineyard business, feeling like a side character of some Gustav Flaubert novel.

As an English teacher he mostly stuck to literature written in English, holding particularly dear Shakespeare, Marlowe and Middleton. But he could certainly enjoy foreign authors, and he could even read some in original language.

The streets of Cannes were narrow, the breeze brought different smells together – sea water, lavender, roses, food cooking in some house, soap – and Murphy took it all in, feeling his senses revel. After an indefinite period of erratic wandering, he sat on a bench, telling himself that after all he was one lucky bastard.

A stranger sat beside him, and he would have normally went to sit elsewhere; but at the moment he grinned to himself, wondering at the change, the improvement his character had underwent.

What he thought was his highest peak probably had been a

“What a beautiful day, isn’t it, John?”

Murphy blinked, his previous peacefulness replaced by mild panic. The stranger was clearly addressing him, but he didn’t at all for formalities, as he kept reading his paper serenely. Murphy, on the other hand, was staring at him wide-eyed, “And who are you?”

“That’s not relevant, at least for now,” he provided, finally folding his paper but not looking at him just yet. He scanned the  boulevard as if he expected a threat to present itself at any given moment, and that didn’t sit well with Murphy, who was seeing this creepy Frenchman for the very first time. “What is relevant is that we have a common acquaintance. Bellamy Blake, n’est-ce pas?” Murphy nodded wordlessly.  “I come to you to talk about a necklace.” Murphy’s face must have shown recognition, so he went on. “Exactly. He did a very foolish thing and didn’t declare it.”

Murphy winced, “You want to arrest him?”

The dark-skinned man shook his head lightly, sighing, “Non. I… owe him a bigger deal than money. What I ask you is,” and ultimately, he fixed his piercing gaze in Murphy’s eyes, “You talk to him. It must be returned to me tomorrow… anonymously.”

Murphy scrunched him face, “He’ll never agree.”

“He must,” he concluded, raising to his feet. “It’s a really nice day. I hope you enjoy it,” he looked at him one last time, and Murphy searched his face for some kind of confirmation this wasn’t an attempt at pranking him. But the man strolled away imperturbably, the embodiment of calmness.

~

Murphy thought about the possibility. He could keep his mouth shut and act by the law, he could never show up to that man again and let Bellamy have this. Let him be a criminal for the last time in his life possibly.

They could do this together, as Bonny and Clyde. He smiled at the thought. It quickly became a tad sour, when he remembered his adolescence.

But Bellamy was a grown man, dammit, he could look after himself, he didn’t need Murphy to make him better or to intervene in his choices, however bad.

He heard the shower stop, meaning Bellamy would come out of the bathroom in a minute.

But that man… he seemed to be knowing who he was talking about. If what he said was true, Bellamy needed this, he was just being whiny and unreasonable.

Maybe Murphy wasn’t really that good at reading people as he thought. Look where it went with Emori. But people screwing him over wasn’t big news, she was just the freshest apple in the box.

Maybe this time he had to trust someone who knew better. With all the risks it entailed for Bellamy and all the firm grip on the situation they required of him.

~

“That is where I’ll sell my necklace,” Bellamy nodded at a jeweler at the other end of the street.

“Your necklace,” Murphy repeated, trying to sound casual, without giving away new-found knowledge.

“My necklace,” Bellamy confirmed, somehow sensing the doubt in his voice, “It was my grandmother’s.”

Murphy nodded, humming as he listened to the story of how it had come into Bellamy’s possession. “Bellamy,” he said at the end of the tale, “What if I sell the necklace?”

“You?” Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, me,” Murphy frowned, unsure on how to take that.

“Why?” Murphy almost missed the question to follow the movement of his mouth when he drew that sound out.

“Well, because,” Murphy wanted to slap himself, “I’m me and you’re you. I mean. I’m an American citizen visiting France and shit,”

“If you go in Cartier like _you_ would go in Cartier… I don’t know,”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Bellamy’s eyebrows rode up at his sudden curse, “I mean look at how you smile. I mean you don’t, you grin threateningly. And you walk like a little boy.”

Murphy faked a beam, exaggerating a pompous walk. “Better, dear?”

“Better,” Bellamy rolled his eyes almost fondly. “If you have to do it, you have to work on these things though,”

Murphy shrugged, resuming his usual walk, hands in his pockets, back slightly curved and quick pace, while pondering of what Bellamy had said.

~

Bellamy was more than a little nervous about this. It _was_ his future after all; nonetheless he hated the sensation, used to be the one to intimidate and throw others into confusion.

He knocked on Murphy’s door and heard him yell to come in. Twisting the door handle he complied, at first exploring a bit the room, then settling on an armchair, waiting on Murphy to come out of the bathroom.

“So,” he heard the screech of the door and Murphy’s voice behind him, “How do I look?”

Bellamy turned, ready to throw a _good, let’s go_ and get down to business. He mostly did a double take, gaping at a version of Murphy he hadn’t yet seen.

Murphy wore a form-fitting white Henley, khaki pants and suspenders; he had his jacket still in hand and… Bellamy had to admit, the boy had more muscle than he had anticipated.

“You look…” Wonderful? Like I should kiss you (again)? Bellamy stared in Murphy’s eyes, feeling his perplexity in contrast to his stupefaction, “… f-fine. I mean. More than fine. You are quite okay.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow, understandably confused about Bellamy’s anticlimactic assessment, “Thanks, I guess.”

“So,” he coughed, “Let’s go?” he ignored the other man’s confused look.

 They started walking down the corridor, Bellamy walking ahead and Murphy following behind. He didn’t know what he was thinking in that moment, nor what made him say what he said next, but he said it anyway. “You know, if you want we could go dancing tonight. I heard the hotel organizes this kind of thing.” He was grateful he couldn’t see Murphy’s face, because whatever his reaction was, he was dreading it.

“Aw, you’re wooing me,” Murphy said, a tint of his usual deadpan.

Bellamy had fought with himself not to turn around up until that moment, but his efforts vanished instantly at his tone, won by curiosity. He saw he wasn’t looking at him, but he had a calm expression so maybe there wasn’t anything to fear. “N-no, I mean, I was just asking. You could use a break after all,”

Murphy finally fixated his stare on him, “No, thank you Bellamy. I understand you think I’m still not over Emori. But there’s no need to throw a pity party.”

Bellamy’s eyes widened, “I wasn’t doing that,”

“You are trying to make me feel better, just admit it and I’ll even come to the damn thing,” Murphy spat, and he suddenly sounded extremely pissed off. Bellamy almost flinched, reprimanding himself for having made a pass maybe a tad too obvious. And clearly a tad too unwanted.

“Ok, just,” he swallowed, “Calm down. You need to… concentrate on this.”

“It will all be fine, don’t worry,” he assured, his previous animosity lingering in the wake of his words. Bellamy nodded silently, choosing to ignore the weird feeling in his gut. It was certainly directed at Murphy, but he wasn’t sure it came from entirely positive stirrings. Murphy seemed restless, and after a while it started to rub off on Bellamy.

Yes, that must have been it. Murphy was influencing him, and he was letting him. He decided he was being overly paranoid, and that this thing was going to work just fine. Murphy had his future into his hands, that’s why he was nervous. It was understandable, Bellamy would be too.

Bellamy waited for Murphy near the entrance of the hotel while he swaggered towards the designated jeweler. Nothing could be done; his walk would always be his walk.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this will take another 3-4 chapters more at best. We are getting to the good part, peeps! Always remember that advice, kudos and any kind of feedback (when it's delivered politely, of course) is so, so appreciated and cherished. Also, I've taken the libesty to change a few things from the film (as you probably noticed/will notice), and hey, this chapter is a bit longer than the rest! Enjoy!

Murphy saw the beanie-wearing man leaning against the wall of Cartier. Once again, he feigned reading a newspaper, but his entire attire clashed with the casual attitude he tried to convey. Black beanie, black glasses, black clothes. He felt an affinity here, but he didn’t certainly blend him with the breezy, summery atmosphere  of the coastal city.

“Bonjour, mon ami,” he stated as soon as Murphy was close enough. He calmly folded his paper and looked him up and down. “So, where is the necklace?”

Murphy grimaced at such brusqueness, “Here, here,” he took it out of his pocket and immediately the cop snatched it. But as fast as he took it, he placed in Murphy’s hand some piece of paper.

Murphy knit his eyebrows, noticing it was a check. The other man looked more concerned about the second part of the exchange than of the first, even looking behind his shoulder suspiciously. Murphy didn’t ask, sure he wouldn’t get an answer anyway. Some  sort of clue came when the man mumbled lowly, “If Monty saw this you will hear from me,”

Murphy just nodded, far from understanding the meaning of that sentence. Whoever this Monty as, they held a lot of power in their hands. Maybe Murphy was safer not knowing, after all.

One itch he had to scratch, though. “Just curiosity,” the man stopped in his tracks, “But how much is that thing worth?”

The man gazed at him, his expression blank, unreadable. “Over a million dollars. ”

Murphy’s eyes widened as the strange man walked away, distractedly throwing a wave at Murphy.

~

Bellamy frowned at the money. “A flaw?”

“He mentioned… some flaws,”

“ _Some_ flaws?!”

“Yup,” Murphy lied to his face, relieved his face didn’t give away how bad he felt about. He made himself feel better repeating that after all Bellamy lied to him too, even without counting the times he apologized.

A string of – probably – insults in French left his mouth, he looked downright disappointed in himself. Murphy felt himself get slightly sickened at himself.

But Bellamy’s face softened, his features filling with acceptance, “It’s ok,”

“It’s ok?” Murphy repeated, hopeful in a forgiveness Bellamy didn’t know he was awaiting.

“It’s not as much as I was hoping, but it’s still enough,” he sighed, “It will take longer than I planned, but I’ll manage,” Murphy thought he was done with that. They would go separate way until the night, have their fun at the dancing thing Bellamy had mentioned and Murphy would take three trains, a plane and a taxi and never see Bellamy ever again. But Bellamy wasn’t done. He turned to Murphy, his check carefully folded and put away in a pocket. His expression betrayed emotion. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Murphy fell speechless; great displays of admiration in his regards were not common nor a thing Murphy was good at dealing with, “I― You’re welcome. I mean, no problem, man. You deserve it,” he kept blabbering as Bellamy smiled at him. A real smile, not a signature one, not a smile just for the sake of it. “I mean, you― you. It’s what you dreamed your whole life, you should get it. We―we should, um, we should,” he gesticulated, waiting for the words to form in his mouth.

“Get back,” Bellamy concluded for him. That look wouldn’t leave his face, and Murphy was thanking whatever entity was looking onto him for not making him blush like he was a teenager all over again.

“Yeah, yes. Definitely. We both deserve a night out.” Murphy nodded. He needed something strong to process all that had happened in the last few hours.

~

The thing was that Murphy had been asking the right question to the wrong person.

_Can she give you all of that? All we had, all we have?_

Now that this all was coming to an end, he saw it. He thought that going all the way to France and trying to get Emori to say it― he genuinely thought it would fix it. He thought he would get over the fact that she had so carelessly thrown away all they had. Actually, the aftermath probably hadn’t concerned him as it should have, preoccupied as he was to find a way to have it all back.

But now he knew that it wasn’t a matter of asking if she could give her what he needed better than he did; if anything, he should have asked himself. But even if the answer had been positive for him, it would still be a selfish consideration.

Murphy grimaced at how a clearer mind exposed all of his miscalculations in front of his eyes. He had flown, admittedly to talk Emori through it, with no intention of taking her back kicking and screaming, but still, what had been the purpose? What had been the outcome?

He watched Bellamy on the dance floor, enjoying himself in the dancing crowd. All things considered, not everything about this unnecessary, absurd, exhausting trip had turned out to be rubbish. His lips twitched into a smile, he was glad Bellamy was too caught up in having fun to turn to him.

Bellamy with his stubbornness, his unusual friends, his rebel hair and rebel attitude. He was taking in as much of him as he could, more and more aware of the fact this was their last day together. Because they weren’t really friends, they just helped each other out this once. They had just shared a mutual need for help to reach their goals; all in all they were means to their own ends, if Murphy looked at it from an extremely utilitarian point of view.

Murphy swallowed, conscious he was now frowning, so he looked away from where Bellamy was smiling so bright he could imagine the sound of his laughter. He grabbed the glass of alcohol he had just been sipping on, when a voice called his name.

“John, is that you?” Emori’s soft tone came from behind him, and as he turned back to look at her he saw she was with her lover.

“Emori,” he greeted back, rising up to his feet to face them properly.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” she said.

“Yes, Bellamy and I had to, um, take care of some business before going,”

Emori nodded, “We can go if you want,” she said, her voice betraying a hint of awkwardness. Murphy saw Raven looking at Emori like leaving was the last thing she wanted to do and she was trying to tell her with her eyes. “We’ve been here before you, we’re going home in a while anyway. I wasn’t sure it was you, anyway, so―”

“No, please. I’m really over this. You can sit with us, if you want,” he said, looking pointedly at the other girl who seemed to sense the sincerity behind his words; she raised her eyebrows, a look of smug surprise on her face.

Emori turned to her, asking for her approval, and she nodded silently, so they sat at Murphy’s table. After a while, Raven asked them to if they wanted drinks, but the both of them declined the invitation so she went on her own. Murphy prayed it didn’t turn awkward, but as soon as she went away, Emori spoke. “I should have said this before, John but I’m really sorry about this. I should have waited and told you when I came back home,” she said, “I didn’t think this through at all.”

“You… it would have been less traumatizing. But I guess it worked out for the better,” Murphy knew that she could sometimes be reckless, and somehow, even if it had been at his expense, now he couldn’t bring himself to do more than remember those days almost fondly.

Emori didn’t comment, nodding silently. “Is he good for you?”

“We have things in common,” Murphy kept it vague, suddenly regretting what he had implied with him some days prior. He should have informed Bellamy instead of making it seem as if they were an item. Wishful thinking and all that, Murphy still had his flaws.

“I’m glad you recovered quickly,”

“Me too,” he said, realizing how cold he sounded. He didn’t add anything nonetheless.

~

Bellamy returned to the table when he saw Emori and her girlfriend leaving Murphy. Bellamy’s eyes where wide with wonder, but Murphy seemed completely at peace, so they couldn’t have said or done anything offensive to him. Raven was telling him something, and just as he was approaching his face turned into a confused frown.

“Hey,” he said as soon as he was near him, “What were they doing here?”

Murphy turned to him, and Bellamy saw he was more then just confused. He seemed shocked, “Nothing,”

Bellamy raised his eyebrow, “They came to you just say hi?”

“No,” Murphy stated; he seemed distracted, and that annoyed Bellamy a bit. “No, they have a place around here. She didn’t know we were here,”

“Oh,” Bellamy nodded, “So what did she say to you?”

“Ah, nothing really, she apologized properly,”

He nodded again, and joked a bit to relieve his seemingly faltered mood, “Still in time to hop on the Emori bus,” he winked at him.

Murphy chuckled, “I’ll pass that offer up,”

“Alright,” Bellamy smiled at him, somehow happy he wasn’t moping about her anymore. He patted his shoulder, “I’m gonna go for drinks,” he said as he went to the bar where he took one for himself and another for Murphy.

All in all, even if this was their last day, Murphy had managed to reclaim his well-being; that was all that mattered. Bellamy got himself quite a cool deal out of it too, so he couldn’t complain. He was going to miss the guy, even with his constant whining and overall weirdness.

Truth was he wasn’t letting himself feel it, mostly because he hated getting attached and then having to turn his back, but there wasn’t much he could do anyway. What was he supposed to say? _Hey, you know, actually you could stay with me. It doesn’t have to be permanent. I am not Emori, but I think we would get along_. In every scenario, Murphy would splutter some excuse about him not being ready for another relationship just yet, how he had to get back on track, it wasn’t that he didn’t like him, it was just to soon and he preferred him as a friend, and too much distance anyway. All bullshit to cover up the fact he didn’t want Bellamy that way. Hell, he wasn’t even that sure he was into guys. Bellamy had flirted a couple of times, but Murphy hadn’t seemed to have registered it, so maybe Bellamy should have taken a hint.

And here came the great but. Bellamy could forget all about it, but he didn’t want that. He had wanted to punch himself on the face when Murphy had kissed him and he kissed him back, but now he’s kind of glad it happened. That was going to be one of the happy memories he would keep of Murphy, an unrepeatable one.

He sighed, grabbing the drinks and making his way to the table. This was going to be harder than anticipated.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at lovelyclizzy.tumblr.com


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